


a confession of roses

by museaway



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Sick Character, failure to realize you're in love with your best friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28263573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/museaway/pseuds/museaway
Summary: Shiro develops symptoms of an unknown illness the night before his wedding.
Relationships: Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Keith/Shiro (Voltron), mention of Keith/other
Comments: 15
Kudos: 103
Collections: #ficwip 2020 gift exchange





	a confession of roses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [benicemurphy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/benicemurphy/gifts).



> As soon as I read Murph’s prompt, I had the terrible thought, what if hanahaki struck the night before you got married? 😌
> 
> Shiro is sick in this, and the bulk takes place while he’s with Adam. If that’s not your tea, please use the back button. I like Adam. I also like complicated relationships and wanted to see what this setup would look like. 
> 
> In America, we have a tradition some couples follow where you don’t see each other the night before the wedding. You might stay with a family member or member(s) of the bridal party, which is what happens in this story. A best man is usually the groom’s best friend or a close family member. Responsibilities can include safeguarding the rings, throwing the bachelor party, and getting the groom to the wedding on time, among other things. 
> 
> This an alternate universe similar to the one in [The Painted Desert](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16932771/chapters/39785541). It assumes they met later and that the events of Voltron did not take place. The universe is at peace, and Shiro and Keith both work for the Garrison.
> 
> For Murph! Written for the [#ficwip server’s](https://ficwip.carrd.co/) holiday gift exchange.

The cough started the night before his wedding, the deep kind that left him feeling the outline of his lungs. A bug from the plane ride, most likely. That sick kid three rows behind them had cried most of the flight to Oahu.

Not wanting to wake Keith who was out cold in the other bed, Shiro snuck out of the hotel room and searched the first-floor gift shop for cough drops: herbal ones with the least offensive taste. They only had cherry. He reluctantly sucked on one as he walked the curved outline of the hotel’s swimming pool. The glow from the underwater lights looked like something on an Altean ship.

The other guys were probably asleep by now. He and Keith had been the last two at the bar while Keith settled the tab. Stuck with himself, Shiro went over tomorrow’s itinerary in his head. Breakfast with his groomsmen at eight. At nine forty-five, a photographer was coming to the room for getting-ready pictures. The coordinator was meeting them in the lobby at ten thirty sharp. The ceremony was at eleven followed by an outdoor reception. Keith was in charge of the tuxes and the rings. All Shiro had to do was show up and stay upright.

He was still coughing the next morning when Keith woke him with a pillow to his face. Keith was already dressed in jeans and a pale blue t-shirt, sitting on the opposite unmade bed with his head canted slightly to one side. Yesterday’s sun had left a rosy cast to his skin. No one who saw him would realize he’d been doing shots past midnight.

“Where’d you go last night?” he said.

“I took a walk,” Shiro said, sitting up. “I didn’t want to wake you up. Sorry. I didn’t realize you’d heard me.”

“You kept coughing in your sleep. Are you feeling okay?”

“Fine. Just drank too much. Nothing a hot shower won't fix.”

“You’d better hurry up. It’s already nine thirty. If I don’t have your ass on time today, I’ll be in trouble with your husband.”

Shiro laughed and coughed a few times into his pillow. “I’ll be ready in ten minutes,” he said.

“Make it five.” Keith opened the sliding door that led onto the lanai. He cleared his throat and stood in the door frame looking out toward the Pacific. “I’ll be outside.”

* * *

Keith was at his side through the ceremony. He slipped Shiro a cough drop before the vows. It tasted better than the kind Shiro had bought, a little like honey. He smiled at Keith gratefully and made it through his vows without forgetting the words, crying because of an emotion he couldn’t describe.

It’s happiness, he told himself and slid the ring onto Adam’s hand. Behind them, the ocean waved.

The reception was outdoors in a grassy area overlooking the water. Guests hovered around tables in formal wear and flip flops. Matt Holt, head of communications for the _Atlas_ and one of the groomsmen, had changed into a fuchsia Hawaiian shirt and was on his third umbrella drink. After the laughter had died down from Keith’s speech, Shiro ordered himself whiskey, hoping it would burn out whatever he’d picked up on the plane. Adam was a good sport, seeming content to sit at their table and rub Shiro’s back whenever another coughing fit started.

“Regretting it already?” he said.

Shiro smiled. “I love you,” he said. The strange emotion flooded him again. He leaned forward to kiss Adam and the tables around them hollered.

“Do you feel well enough for one dance?” Adam said.

Not wanting to let the kid from 32C ruin their big day, Shiro dried his mouth and stood up. He held out a hand and led Adam onto the dance floor.

As they swayed to a pop song Shiro couldn’t recall the lyrics to, he spotted Keith a distance away in the arms of one of Adam’s Galran coworkers. Huge hands encircled his waist and the Galran’s chin was dipped to meet Keith’s gaze. Keith had let his hair down, face flushed from alcohol and the afternoon sun, reminding Shiro of the day he’d driven to the canyon an hour outside of Phoenix to recruit him. Keith hadn’t gotten off his bike while they talked, just whipped off his helmet and frowned while he listened to Shiro’s pitch. He was scheduled for Kerberos. With his simulator scores, he’d be bored an hour into the flight—Shiro told him that and asked him to report to his team on Monday. Adam warned Shiro not to get his hopes up; Keith had a reputation for being insubordinate. But come Monday, he pulled up next to Shiro’s car three minutes early. They’d flown together ever since.

Keith was laughing like he had last night. When the Galran lowered his head as though he might kiss him, Shiro’s body moved in their direction but he caught himself at the last moment and lowered Adam into a dip.

“I thought you couldn’t dance?” Adam said with a smile, raising an eyebrow.

Shiro had trouble catching his breath and focused on the way the sunlight reflected off of the rim of Adam’s glasses. He pulled him upright.

“I took lessons,” he said.

From time to time his eyes betrayed him, skipping across the dance floor. Every time they did, his chest tightened.

“You were supposed to be nervous _before_ the wedding,” Adam said, adjusting his arms around Shiro’s neck. “Why are you so tense? Afraid I won’t let you out to play with Keith now that we're married?”

“Keith’s drunk and your co-worker is all over him.”

“I thought they had something going on,” Adam said nonchalantly, as though he were commenting on rain through wet windows.

Shiro stepped hard on his foot. Holding his breath, Adam hopped to the nearest open chair and took off his shoe.

“Sorry,” Shiro said, dropping onto his knees beside him.

“For what?”

“Stepping on you.”

“Keith’s twenty-four,” Adam hissed. “The way you fuss over him is a little….

“Paternal?” Shiro guessed.

Adam swiped someone else’s champagne. He drained the glass and wiped his mouth with a borrowed napkin. “Takashi, how many years have we been together?”

“Uh…” Shiro stopped to count on his fingers. “Six?”

“When did you meet Keith?”

“It’ll be four years in May.”

Adam made an annoyed sound with his tongue. Shiro shuffled closer and took his hands.

“I only remember because that’s when everything was going wrong with the Altea mission.” He kissed the ring on Adam’s finger. “You’re right. I’ll stop worrying about him.”

Adam was staring out toward the ocean. A warm breeze off of the water ruffled his hair. Shiro smiled apologetically and bent to kiss the foot he’d stepped on.

“Can I get you another drink?” he said.

“Manhattan.”

“You don’t want one of those tropical ones with the umbrellas? Matt’s been drinking them all afternoon.”

Adam gave him a sour look. Shiro cut to the front of the bar line and ordered a mai tai for himself and a Manhattan for his better half. He could hear Keith laughing a distance behind him, the kind of booming laugh he thought Keith only laughed around him.

When he came back to the table with the drinks, Adam was up dancing with a fit, tan guy from Communications that Shiro hadn’t realized was on the guest list. He felt nothing seeing them together, only the vague notion that he was looking at his husband and a colleague.

Husband. What a bizarre word. He couldn’t bring himself to say it yet.

He was halfway through the mai tai when Keith sidled up to him. “You should probably step in,” he said.

“So you’ve finally had enough dancing with that Galran?”

Keith gave him the same confused expression he did whenever Shiro tried speaking Altean. Just as quickly, he shook his head and motioned with his glass toward the dance floor. “I meant your husband.”

Realizing his mistake, Shiro flushed and laughed to cover his embarrassment—the kind of forced laughter he’d learned to flatter generals and politicians. It dissolved into coughing so strong his vision blurred and he had to sit down.

“Careful, old timer,” Keith said. He was kneeling in front of Shiro and swiped the drink from him. “How many of these have you had?” He sipped from the straw and made a face. “It’s so sweet. How can you stand it?”

“Are you really dating that guy?” Shiro blurted.

“Who, Yorak?” Keith took another sip and shrugged. “We hook up sometimes. I thought I told you.”

“I would remember something like that.”

“Sorry. Didn’t realize I needed your authorization.” Keith’s voice was frosty. He glanced over his shoulder. “Look, you suck at reading people so I’m going to tell you straight out: Adam will be pissed if the song finishes and you haven’t cut in.”

“Seriously?”

“Listen to your best man.”

Shiro bloomed into a soppy grin. “You really are.”

“Huh?”

“The best.”

Keith scowled and got to his feet. “I’m getting a drink,” he muttered, heading toward the bar.

“Haven’t you had enough?” Shiro called.

Keith gave him the finger. It might have been the sun, but Shiro thought he caught the fleeting sight of a flushed cheek.

It haunted him as he claimed Adam from the man he wasn’t jealous of, as he kissed the side of his neck and slowed their pace to the next song. Across the dance floor, Keith was throwing back another beer. Irritation built in Shiro’s chest and he coughed, he coughed. He coughed.

* * *

The first petals came up four months later, the morning the _Atlas_ was scheduled to leave for an immersive Galran training program on Daibazaal.

Shiro mistook them for blood on the white bathroom tiles. Panicked, he grabbed a fist of tissues. It was only as he crushed the first one that he realized what he was holding: a slight red petal one quarter-inch long, about the size of a pomegranate seed, more narrow at one end than the other, cupped like a palm.

“Honey?” Adam knocked on the door. “Are you okay?”

“Fine! I…” Shiro glanced around the bathroom for an excuse. “The mouthwash went down wrong.”

“We need to leave in a few minutes if we’re getting there on time.”

“I’m almost ready.”

He flushed the petals before Adam could see them and pressed the wrinkles from his uniform, coughing repeatedly into his elbow. The cough had worsened since the wedding. Adam had spent their honeymoon exploring Maui with friends while Shiro lounged in the newlyweds’ suite and hung out with Keith by the pool. After they’d returned to base, the Garrison grounded him. Tests confirmed nothing. The best guess was that his chronic illness was coming out of remission and attacking his lungs. Today was supposed to be his fourth mission launch with Keith, not a first for Keith and the hothead they’d assigned, but even Shiro agreed he was in no condition to go.

As he ironed, he thought of where he’d been recently. Could he have inhaled something when they went riding last Saturday? Or maybe these red things were actually the lining of his lungs coming up. He probably needed to go to the ER, but there was no way he was missing the launch, not when Keith wouldn’t be back on Earth for at least eight months if things went well, and an indeterminate time if they didn’t.

Adam drove. Shiro sucked on his third cough drop, absently gnawing his thumbnail until Adam slapped the hand out of his mouth.

“They’ll be fine,” he said. “You trained them. You’re always saying Keith’s a better pilot than you are anyway, and with that new Altean tech, he’ll get them there within a week.”

“I know, I just…”

“Wish you could be going with them. I get it. I can’t imagine how frustrating the order has to be, but wipe it off of your face before we get there, Captain. You’ll depress your crew.”

Adam squeezed his knee affectionately. Shiro laughed. “You’re right,” he said and folded his hands on his lap, feeling the flutter of something foreign whenever he breathed.

He stood on the platform with the crew during the launch ceremony. Keith was taking long, even breaths to cover his nerves. When Admiral Sanda concluded her speech, Shiro quietly unwrapped a fourth cough drop and nudged Keith in the side.

“You’re gonna do great,” he whispered. “But I’m sorry I won’t get to meet your mom.”

The corner of Keith’s mouth quirked. He looked like he was going to say something when the speakers crackled and Sam Holt, one of the ship’s designers, stepped up to the microphone.

After the speeches concluded, they exited the stage together with the crew behind them, walking toward the _Atlas_. Her immense white hull glinted, almost blinding in the sun. Shiro and Keith stopped at the base of the ramp, shaking hands with each crew member as they boarded. Shiro’s perfect smile flickered when he greeted the Galran who had danced with Keith at his wedding. Keith must have approved a crew change. Shiro didn’t know why he was surprised. The crew was mixed, a third Galran—the most of any crew out right now. And why shouldn’t there be a lot of them on board? The ship was headed for their homeworld. He’d probably request an Earth-bound mission if he were stationed in another part of the universe.

Standing in uniform under the July sun had made him dizzy. When the last of the crew had gone on board, Shiro swayed on his feet, resting a hand on Keith’s shoulder to regain his balance.

“You okay?” Keith said. He turned toward him, catching Shiro by the elbows.

“Just overheated.”

Keith nodded. “It’s gonna be weird not seeing you every day.”

Shiro fought down a profound sadness. “I’ll be monitoring you.”

The skin between Keith’s eyebrows creased. His eyes darted back and forth between Shiro’s, appearing almost lavender in the light. For a moment everything seemed to slow—the breeze, Shiro’s heart. He knew the ship would be safe in Keith’s hands. As unprofessional as it would look to the cameras, he tossed protocol aside and pulled Keith to him.

“Come back safe.”

Keith nodded against his shoulder, an arm trapped between them, the other resting on Shiro’s back. Their photograph would probably be on all of the news outlets tomorrow. Keith squeezed him tightly and kissed the side of his face the cameras couldn’t see.

“Galran custom,” he muttered, stepping back, and raised his hand in salute. “Captain.”

Shiro couldn’t remember that custom from sensitivity training. His face felt hot. But within minutes the ship was high overhead, disappearing into the atmosphere, and the fleeting pressure of Keith’s lips had faded. The camera crews stopped filming and left. Shiro dried his forehead. He’d run on adrenaline during the ceremony, and now that it was over he was exhausted. He coughed into a Garrison-issue handkerchief. The color red scattered in his peripheral vision, but before he could look for the source, Adam caught up to him.

“You survived,” he said, slinging an arm around his shoulders.

Shiro wasn’t sure why he cried.

* * *

An internet search turned up no answers, so he scheduled an emergency visit with his regular doctor for the next morning, telling Adam he had an early meeting.

“Flowers?” The doctor repositioned the stethoscope on Shiro’s chest. “Breathe in.”

Shiro did and exhaled when she instructed, swearing that he could feel movement like confetti tumbling around inside of his lungs. “Yesterday morning, I coughed up something that sort of resembled rose petals.”

She frowned and moved the stethoscope again. “Did you bring a sample?”

“No, I…” Shiro coughed into his fist. “I flushed them. I didn’t want to scare my husband.”

She listened for a few more seconds and put the stethoscope in her pocket. “Your lungs sound clear. Could it have been mucus?”

Shiro didn’t think so but nodded. “Maybe.”

“I’ll order a chest x-ray and some blood work. It’s probably irritation as a result of your prolonged cough. Is the syrup still working for you?”

“Better than the last one. I’m sleeping through the night.”

“I want you to keep taking it. If the cough becomes productive again, bring a sample. I’ll put a note in your file.”

He nodded. She folded her arms.

“I understand your ship left yesterday.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“That’s a lot of stress.”

Shiro smiled. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

She didn’t look convinced but scribbled something on a small notepad and tore off the page. “Your refill. Assuming your tests come back normal, I’ll see you next month.”

He folded the prescription and tucked it in his pocket. While he waited for a nurse to take a blood sample, he checked his messages, happy to find one from Keith—an uncaptioned photo of the bridge taken from the captain’s seat, viewscreen filled with stars. He stared at it, rubbing the phantom pressure in his chest, so transfixed he jumped when the nurse opened the door.

“Mr. Shirogane?” he said, looking at a clipboard.

Shiro followed the nurse down to radiation. His x-rays were clear.

* * *

Three days later, he woke to the sensation of something coiling in his lungs and ran for the bathroom, switching on the fan to hide the gagging. He gathered the petals in an empty olive jar Adam had saved, and hid the jar in his jacket pocket before texting the hospital.

He and Adam sat down together for breakfast. Adam had an early class, so he only stayed at the table long enough to eat a piece of toast.

“Have you seen my gloves?” he shouted from the bedroom. “I like to intimidate the kids on the first day.”

“Take mine,” Shiro said through a full mouth. “Coat pocket. I have an extra pair in my desk.”

Adam came back to the table holding Shiro’s gloves in one hand and the jar in the other. He held it up with a quizzical look. Shiro froze, his mind spinning excuses.

“Why do you have an empty jar in your coat?” Adam said.

Shiro’s eyes fell on the blood-red petals filling a third of it.

“Swear jar,” he said, uncertain if Adam was testing him. On the contrary, he seemed amused by the answer and smirked.

“You’ll probably want a larger one for that.” Adam set the jar on the table and pecked Shiro on the lips. “I’ll be late. You’re on your own for dinner.”

“Love you,” Shiro called as the front door closed. He reached for the jar and turned it over in his hands. The petals tumbled along the sides of the glass. A greater number had come up today, fluttering into the bathroom sink. He placed the jar in the sun and sat back, staring at it.

The hospital wrote back requesting a photograph. Shiro watched in disbelief as he took picture after picture of an empty jar.

* * *

He had to be losing his mind. The stress of being grounded must be getting to him. He needed to talk with Admiral Sanda immediately. For the safety of Earth and the crews in deep space, Shiro needed to be placed on medical leave.

He put the jar in his briefcase and left for work. On the drive, he sent a message to the hospital saying that he’d made a mistake and wouldn’t be bringing a sample after all. He didn’t call Admiral Sanda. He locked himself in his office and pulled up his last psych evaluation. No referral required. He wasn’t due for another test until the end of the year. Requesting an early one could signal red flags, and if something was wrong, they’d probably pull Adam into the mess.

Shiro sat back and rubbed his head. He was already grounded. Keith was the one making day-to-day decisions and the flight was short. If there was an emergency, senior leadership would step in. And last year, he’d taught with a 103 degree fever. A cough wasn’t going to keep him out of the classroom. Shiro hadn’t worked this hard to throw away his entire career. The cough would go away. These— _whatever_ they were—would go away. He wasn’t relapsing. Shiro locked the jar in his desk and went to a conference room for his daily briefing with the _Atlas_.

An erratic signal made the connection lag. Keith smiled twelve seconds after Shiro said hello and was still smiling when petals choked him and Shiro bent over gagging. They scattered on the gray carpet. Someone knocked on the door and brought in a carafe of water, stepping over the petals as though they weren’t there.

On the screen, Keith’s expression had shifted to concern. “Shiro? Hey, are you okay?”

Shiro covered his mouth with a handkerchief and gave a thumbs-up, apologizing to the assistant. After she left, he kicked the petals beneath the conference table with his foot.

“Captain, report,” Shiro said between coughs.

He sat back and listened with a lazy smile to Keith’s update, rubbing over the soreness in his lungs like that could ease it. When the signal cut out and the screen went blank, he stared at the place where Keith’s face had been.

Before he’d left, Keith had started carrying cough drops with him at all times and had fed them to Shiro at the slightest sign of irritation. If he were here, he’d call him names and let him rest on his shoulder.

Shiro gathered the petals in a paper towel and took them back to his office. By Friday, the _Atlas_ had reached Daibazaal and he’d filled the jar. He looked at it every day. No matter how many passed, the petals stayed red.

* * *

As days turned into weeks, Shiro grew used to waking with the urge to expel the flowers. He ran the bathroom fan so Adam couldn’t hear, using his fingers to pluck them from his mouth and throat. He was always sick again after the _Atlas_ morning briefing, often while Keith was still on the line. Shiro would mute his microphone and lean out of frame, pretending to refill his coffee.

After the first month, the petals appeared larger—the size of a fingertip. He was learning to control the urge to cough but the headaches were more frequent. When he wasn’t alone, he swallowed the petals. They didn’t affect his stomach, only his appetite. It was often mid-afternoon before he felt hungry, and then he could only eat lightly: a side salad from the cafeteria or a bowl of soup.

His doctor commented on his sudden weight loss at his next checkup. Shiro blamed it on the summer heat and she advised him to increase his protein. Back home he stood in the bathroom with his shirt pulled up, looking at the protrusion of ribs. He grilled steaks for dinner but only ate three bites before laying down his fork. Adam raised an eyebrow.

“Watching your figure?”

“I ate a late lunch,” Shiro said, massaging his temples. “I’ll take the rest for lunch tomorrow.”

“Does your head hurt again?”

“I’m tired.”

Adam set down his fork and crossed his arms. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or are we pretending you haven’t been getting sicker?”

Shiro cleared his throat and tasted flowers. “Nothing’s going on.”

“You didn’t eat breakfast this morning.”

“I ate at work.”

“Stop,” Adam said, laying his palms on the table. “Stop it. How many years have we been together? You’re losing weight, your color is off. You left all of the lights on again this morning and the dryer was open. What is going on?”

“There’s nothing to tell you. I’ve been sick since the wedding and they can’t find a reason.”

“Stress?”

Shiro shrugged. “I’m already grounded. What do I have to be stressed about?”

“Well, Keith’s on another planet. You’re not piloting the mission you trained for.”

“You think I’m losing it?”

“Do _you_ think you’re losing it?”

Shiro looked at his hands. “I—I don’t know.”

“What does Keith think?”

“He doesn’t know. I didn’t want to make him worry.”

Adam was still for a few seconds, thinking, then got up from the table and went to the kitchen. “I’m making you a protein shake,” he said.

Shiro sipped on it for Adam’s sake. The flavor, usually chocolate, tasted like chalk. He chewed a petal to clear it.

They decided on an evening in. Halfway through a spy thriller Adam selected, Keith sent a photo of himself and a Galran woman in sunglasses taken in front of a craggy landscape. Sightseeing with my mom, the message said. Before he could show it to Adam, Shiro went into one of his fits, coughing until he saw stars.

Adam went to bed after the movie finished, mumbling something about an early class. Shiro put the rest of the shake in the fridge and washed it down the drain in the morning after Adam left.

* * *

As fall approached, he lost another five pounds and his blood oxygen fell below normal. His head throbbed throughout the day. Simple details he used to be able to recall half asleep slipped his mind: planet names, maneuvers, the names of equipment. Students. He could imagine them, their outlines, but the words themselves were elusive.

A split-second hesitation during an emergency could be fatal. He reported his condition to his senior officer and the Garrison put him on light duty. Shiro choked down weight-gain formulas, but they only slowed the wasting. It had started to show in his face, hollowing under his cheekbones.

The petals had grown to the size of his thumbprint. Sometimes in the night, he couldn’t get in a breath and they came out mangled.

Keith said something after one of their briefings, switching over to a personal channel and walking away from the people he was with. “You don’t look so hot. Did you get the flu?”

Shiro shook his head, unable to speak through a sudden pain in his chest. He leaned over the conference table, waiting for it to pass.

“Should I let you go?” Keith said.

“No—! Talking to you…” Shiro cleared his throat and pounded his chest to settle it. “Talking to you makes me feel better.”

Keith brightened. “Okay. I’m not doing anything right now anyway.”

“How do you like it there?”

“It’s pretty cool. Krolia’s been taking me sightseeing. You’d love riding on the flatlands out here, man. The gravity’s different. Really feels like you’re flying. Yorak came with me yesterday after we finished training.”

“You’re making friends there, huh?”

Keith frowned. “He’s one of my crew. He was at your wedding, remember?”

“Oh, right,” Shiro said, blinking as the memory of huge hands around Keith’s waist came roaring back. “Sorry. His name slipped my mind.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? Your lips look sort of blue.”

“It’s freezing in here. They have the air cranked.”

“Seriously, you don’t look right. You should go to the hospital.”

“I have a doctor’s appointment in the morning.” Shiro sat back and put on a smile. “Tell me more about riding. What’s the equipment like?”

Keith’s sigh had an edge of resignation. “Twice as fast as anything _you’ve_ driven,” he said. “You been out lately?”

“Not since you left.”

“Can’t talk Adam into it?”

Shiro laughed. “Adam’s not the sort of person you talk into anything.”

“You love it so much, I thought he might try it once.”

“He came out with me when we first started dating, but he said it felt too much like work. The part he liked best was when we stopped for food.”

“That sounds like Adam.” Keith laughed. “When I get back, we’ll go on the weekends like we used to. Hey, maybe we can do that trip we were talking about. Assuming you’re up for it.”

A few days riding and camping out sounded like bliss. “I’ll go even if you have to strap me to the bike,” Shiro said.

Keith’s smile faltered. “Is there something going on?”

“It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

“What the heck are you talking about? Of course I’m gonna worry about you.”

“You need to focus on the mission.”

“Fuck the mission! If anything happens to me, Lance can take over. It’s not like we’re in a war out here. Do I need to get a flight back to Earth?”

Shiro felt warmth bloom in his chest. “The cough has caused some complications and they still don’t know why I still have it. I’m on light duty right now. Talking to you is the most exciting thing I get to do.”

“What do you mean by complications?”

“It’s nothing that rest won't heal. I’m not going to die before you get back.”

“Promise you’ll tell me if it gets more serious.”

“Keith—”

“You mean a hell of a lot more to me than some mission. If something’s happening to you, I want to be there.”

Someone came into the room where Keith was. Shiro could only hear his voice. Keith leaned out of frame, muffling the microphone with his hand.

Pain lit up Shiro’s head. Clenching his teeth, he told Keith he had to go. He’d talk to him again at the next briefing. Before they disconnected, over Keith's shoulder he spotted a glimpse of purple fur and his vision went hazy.

* * *

The next thing he knew, he was waking up in the Garrison’s infirmary. He knew it from the smell. Back when his muscles were giving him trouble, he’d spent a lot of time in here. Someone near the bed was reading. There was a soft turning of pages.

“Adam?” Shiro said.

Adam laid aside the book and took Shiro’s hand. “You passed out on the conference table during a video call. The nurse said I can take you home once you’re up. Can you make it to the car?”

“How long have I been out?”

“It’s only lunchtime. I’m supposed to teach this afternoon, but I’m going to call out.”

“Don’t do that. I can make it home myself.”

“I don’t think it’s safe for you to be driving right now,” Adam said. “I called your doctor. Since you’re stable she doesn’t think you need to go to the ER, but maybe it would be a good idea.”

“I just want to go home.”

Adam sighed. “Do you need anything from your office?”

“I’ll get it tomorrow.”

“You’re not coming in tomorrow,” Adam said gently. “You’ve been put on indefinite leave effective immediately.”

“What about the _Atlas_?”

“I’ll keep you briefed.”

“They passed it to you?” Shiro said, stinging from the disappointment. That was his ship. He’d trained that crew and planned on bringing them home. But if he couldn’t personally oversee it, Adam was the one he’d want in charge. “That’s...that’s good,” he added.

“Let me help you with your shoes.”

Adam got him home and into bed. He put Shiro’s phone on charge within arm’s reach.

“If you’re sure you’ll be alright, I’ll head back. I’ll keep my phone on me. If you need anything...”

“I won’t,” Shiro interrupted with a smile. “But thank you. Sorry to pull you away from work.”

Adam kissed his forehead. “There’s a shake for you in the fridge.” He left the bedroom door partially open when he went out. Shiro waited until he heard the front door close, then got up and forced out what petals he could. They came out in clusters, two and three connected at their bases as though they’d been ripped from the outside of a rose. He tried to take a picture—he tried every day—but the camera only saw an empty hand.

He flushed most but took a cluster with him back into the bedroom and set it on his nightstand beside weeks of others, all as red as the day they’d come up, invisible except to him.

* * *

When he learned about the command change, Keith sent Shiro a video message grilling him about his health, but Shiro continued to insist it wasn’t serious. He begged Adam not to tell him, saying there was nothing Keith could do about the situation even if he were here. Not wanting to get in the middle, Adam compromised, agreeing not to volunteer information Keith didn’t directly request.

Lying in bed with nothing to do, and no difference between a weekend or a weekday but the column on a calendar, Shiro quickly lost track of time. He tried to make the best of it: putting a dent in the backlog of books he’d been meaning to read, finally getting around to spackling nail holes where the old paper towel holder had been.

Cleaning was therapeutic. As long as he didn’t overexert himself, he could dust and straighten and run the vacuum. The apartment was always spotless when Adam came home.

Shiro tried walking to the market in the morning before it got hot but only made it halfway. He found a grocery store that delivered and spent a week experimenting with the slow cooker they’d received as a wedding gift. Adam gave him succinct work updates over dinner. But while Adam complimented the flavor of his cooking and the food smelled good, Shiro still had no appetite.

When he recorded messages for Keith, he filmed them in the bedroom where the light was poorest and always felt sick after. Shiro’s personal phone wasn’t configured for deep-space calls. It could only relay messages through the Garrison and wait twelve hours for the next refresh, so it was often a day or two before he got a reply.

The cause of his illness remained a mystery. No one could explain why he couldn’t get enough air. They ruled out cancer and emphysema, and put him on bronchodilators and steroids. A psychiatrist prescribed antidepressants. Shiro ordered a portable oxygen unit. He took pain killers for his head and didn’t tell anyone about the flowers.

* * *

The season changed, the angle of the sunlight changed, but he was stagnant. To hide his worsening condition, he began sending Keith emails instead of videos. The more he sat still, the more his muscles screamed to run, but running exhausted him. He attached his old stimulators, shivering in a blanket on the couch.

He and Adam passed the holidays at home. Shiro’s inbox was flooded with video greetings wishing him a speedy recovery. He saved Keith’s for last. When he finally listened to it, Shiro was in so much pain he fought back tears. Keith had recorded it outdoors under Daibazaal’s strange dark sky. It brought out the violet undertones in his skin. Looking at him, Shiro felt homesick.

“I’ll be home in eight weeks,” Keith said in closing. “You’d better be on the mend. Tell Adam I said happy new year.”

Eight weeks. So soon and yet it felt like an eternity. Shiro stared at his phone. Keith’s face blurred and the screen went dark.

“You seem worse whenever you talk to him,” Adam said, looking up from his book. “Did you two fight?”

“Why would you think that?”

“You’re crying. You cry whenever he comes up lately.”

“Guess I just miss him.” Shiro wiped his face, surprised to find it was wet.

Adam pressed his lips together and laid down the book. His expression was solemn but calm, the way it got before he was about to say something that had been lingering on his mind.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he said.

“You’re pregnant?” Shiro guessed.

Adam gave him a fleeting smile. “The officiant never filed the paperwork after the wedding. There was a problem with the copy we signed—the date or something. I forget. I was supposed to have you sign a new copy and email it back to him, but I never did.”

“What does that mean?”

“We’re not actually married and I don’t want to commit tax fraud.”

“We’re not married?” Shiro said.

“Not legally.”

“We’re not _married_ ,” Shiro said again.

Adam sighed. “I hate that you don’t sound more upset about it, but I’m actually glad. It makes this easier.”

“Makes what easier? Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve signed whatever I needed to.”

Straightening his back, Adam lifted his chin. “I thought it might be a sign that we made a mistake. I figured...if things did work out, we could always get married here. And if they didn’t, we wouldn’t have to worry about a divorce.”

“I...I don’t understand.”

“Takashi, I love you but I won’t do this anymore. I thought things would change after we got married, but if anything they’re worse.”

“What are you talking about? I thought we were happy?”

Adam gave him a sad smile. “What do I mean to you?” he said.

Shiro was instantly furious. If he’d felt better, he would’ve put half the room between them, but as it was he turned his face away. “What kind of question is that?” he asked.

“Answer it.”

“You’re the person I’m spending my life with.”

“And what does Keith mean to you?”

Shiro felt like he’d been punched by ice. “Don’t bring Keith into this.”

Instead of snapping back at him, Adam sighed. “I was really happy when the two of you met. I’d never seen you click with anyone so fast. You’ve always been walled off with everyone but me. That’s why I didn’t mind how much time you spent with him. I liked when he came over. You seemed more alive. And you were always so happy when you came back from seeing him….”

Adam’s voice wavered and he stopped talking for a moment. Shiro was unable to move and stared blankly at their breakfast going cold on the coffee table. Clearing his throat, Adam continued.

“You’ve always been good to me. You’re considerate, you’re kind. I believe you love me. But you don’t look at me the way you look at him. I tried convincing myself it didn’t matter because at the end of the day, I was your husband, but I’ll go insane if I have to watch you pretend you’re not in love with him anymore.”

Shiro blinked slowly as Adam’s words sunk in. “You think I’m in love with Keith?”

“Honey, everyone knows you’re in love with Keith. The Altean ambassador knows you’re in love with Keith. Hell, his mother on Daibazaal you’ve never met probably knows you’re in love with Keith.”

Shiro felt very keenly that he might vomit. He choked on his next breath. Petals exploded from his mouth, settling on the table and the floor. Some drifted onto Adam’s lap, unseen. Shiro covered his mouth with his hands.

“I think Keith is the only person who hasn’t figured it out,” Adam continued. “But then you did marry someone else.”

At the edge to Adam’s voice, Shiro flushed and hid his face in his palms, listening to the faint tick of the bedroom clock. His teeth chattered.

“Did you honestly not realize?” Adam said after the second hand had made several orbits.

Shiro miserably shook his head. He caught the taste of salt before he realized he was crying again. It set off his cough. Everything around him turned red. Adam brought the cough syrup and moved him to the bed, covering him with three blankets. He laid something next to him that crinkled.

“I’m going to move my things into the other bedroom for now. We can figure out a story to tell everyone later.”

Shiro didn’t have the energy to argue. He knew from Adam’s posture that he’d made up his mind. “If that’s what you want.”

“Sleep for a while,” Adam said. “Shout if you need anything.” He went into the bathroom and put on music. Shiro heard the water running.

In love with Keith. How could he be in love with Keith? Wasn’t that the sort of thing you knew? As a red-blooded man he knew Keith was attractive, but he had never thought about him that way. He had never let himself think about him that way.

They’d been together from the moment Keith had blasted into his life. Shiro was friendly with everyone, but besides Adam, he’d never met someone like Keith who didn’t get on his nerves after a couple of hours. They could spend the whole day out riding, then grab beers and pizza and Shiro still wouldn’t want him to go home. And he got along with Adam. The days Keith stayed over were his favorite, seeing his face in the morning, making a third cup of coffee—lightly sweet but no milk.

He opened his eyes to see the newspaper from the morning after the launch. Adam must have kept it. Beneath the headline GARRISON CELEBRATES SUCCESSFUL ATLAS LAUNCH and the lead photo of the crew, on the bottom right of the page, only the width of one column, was the photograph of the two of them.

Had they really stood so close? Had he really held Keith like that? He recalled the warmth of his lips and imagined kissing them.

Flowers came up whole, spilling from his mouth. He thrashed trying to clear them and fell out of bed, scooping them up in his hands, whole blooms he crushed in his palms.

Adam rushed out of the bathroom in a towel and knelt beside him on an invisible carpet of roses. “What happened? Why did you fall?” He clipped a pulse ox to Shiro’s finger. “Your oxygen’s low. I’ll get the tank.”

Shiro met his eyes. “Can’t you see them?” he said.

“See what, honey?”

“The roses.” Shiro’s eyes welled with tears. “You’re kneeling on them. Can’t you see them?”

Adam looked at the floor, then slowly back at him. “Takashi...there aren’t any roses.”

“Yes there are.” Shiro coughed and more of them scattered. “I’m filled with them. Ever since...ever since he….”

Adam’s eyes went glassy, but he smiled gently and touched Shiro’s hair. “I’m going to make a call,” he said. He pulled a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around Shiro’s shoulders.

Through the haze of confusion and pain, Shiro heard Adam on the phone. A few minutes later, someone was at the front door. He helped Adam carry Shiro down to the car.

Shiro drifted in and out of consciousness as they drove, dreaming of a desert that was black like space, of speeding through it. Keith’s laughter, the way he looked outlined in sunlight. Keith sitting on the bed opposite his in Hawai’i. In the dream Shiro reached for him, stretching a hand across the valley between their beds, but Keith stood up before Shiro could touch him and walked to the door.

“Wait,” Shiro said. “Please, wait—”

“I’m tired of waiting,” the dream Keith said and disappeared.

Shiro ran after him onto the lanai. The hotel grounds were empty, the pool drained. Forgotten leaves sagged in a puddle next to the drain.

“Keith,” he shouted. “Keith!”

“Should we contact him?” said a voice.

“Who is that?” Shiro said, whipping around. “Who’s talking?”

“He’s dreaming,” Adam’s voice said to the first. “Let him sleep.”

Beeping woke him, the steady rhythm of a heart monitor. Shiro was on his back. The bed was angled so he was sitting partially upright with a plastic mask covering his nose and mouth. Beside the bed, an empty chair stood against the wall. From its position, he didn’t think anyone had used it.

For once his head didn’t hurt. He pushed the mask aside and cleared his throat with his fingers, flicking the wet petals onto the floor. There was no clock in the room. Going by the sun, it was late afternoon. He looked around for his phone but didn’t see it and rang for the nurse.

Adam arrived a while later with fresh clothes and Shiro’s phone, and stood next to the bed in a dark trench coat with his arms crossed.

“Sorry for ambushing you with all of that earlier,” he said.

“No, I’m...I’m glad you said something,” Shiro said, surprisingly calm about it. “I didn’t know you felt like that.”

“They said you can go home in the morning. Do you want me to stay?”

“So both of us can be zombies tomorrow?” Shiro laughed. “Nah, you go home. You haven’t gotten much sleep lately because of me. Is that a new coat?”

“I bought it a while ago but haven’t had a chance to wear it.”

“It looks good on you. Are you going out?”

“I was planning to take a colleague to dinner.”

“Like a date?” Shiro said.

“It’s to say _thank you_ ,” Adam said. “For helping me get your ass down two flights of stairs. Call me in the morning. I’ll drive you home.”

“Thanks,” Shiro said.

Adam put a gloved hand to his mouth and cleared his throat. “Do you remember what you were saying after you fell out of bed? About flowers?”

Panic lit up his chest. Shiro smiled innocently and shook his head. “Sorry. Was it important?”

“I mentioned it to your doctor—I thought it might be a symptom. She said you asked about something like that months ago.”

Caught in the lie, Shiro nodded toward his lap. “You’ll think I’m crazy.”

“I already think you’re crazy. You’re letting me go and I’m a hell of a catch.” Adam sat on the bed next to Shiro’s feet. “You’re...seeing flowers?”

“They’re in my lungs,” Shiro said, feeling insane for even saying it. “I don’t know how. No one can see them but me, but I swear they’re real. I’ve tried taking pictures but…” He paused for a few breaths, holding the oxygen mask back over his nose. “They started out tiny. It was annoying more than anything, but now…”

He coughed into his hands and held them out. Adam looked but shook his head.

“What am I supposed to be seeing?” he said.

“About half a rose. Red. I can feel it, the texture of the petals. It has weight.”

“When did this start?”

“The day the _Atlas_ left.”

Adam was frowning. “We’ve interacted with telepathic species. Do you think...could one of them have done something to you?”

Shiro shrugged and put the mask back on. “If any of this goes on my record, I’m never flying again.” Neither of them said what he was thinking, that he wouldn’t fly again either way. “Did they say how long I’m going to…”

Adam’s smile was grim. “We can talk more about it tomorrow. They want you to rest.”

“I will,” Shiro said. “You go. Enjoy your dinner. Tell him thanks for me.”

After Adam left, Shiro tried to find something on TV. Halfway through a program about French mashed potatoes, he received a message from Matt Holt.

“Hey, Shiro, it’s Matt. Hope you and Adam had a great holiday. Uh...so I sort of promised him I wouldn’t say anything, but there’s something up with Keith. He’s been off lately, gets tired fast. He’s been trying to blame it on the gravity but we’ve been here for months and he _is_ half Galran. If anyone should be okay here, it’s him. I don’t want to worry you, but he collapsed this morning. He’s at a hospital here on Daibazaal. I figured you should know. I’ll keep you posted. We all miss you out here.”

The message had been recorded hours earlier. Shiro’s heart was pounding. The next refresh wasn’t for twelve hours. He had to get to his office. No. Adam didn’t answer his phone—he was probably driving. Shiro called Sam.

“I need a live line to the _Atlas_ ,” he said, gasping.

“Shiro? Where are you?”

“Plaht General.”

“Did something happen? Are you alright?”

“Please, it’s urgent.”

Sam sighed. “I’m sorry, Shiro, but I can’t authorize a live connection outside of the base. You’ve been relieved of duty.”

“Sam, please.” Shiro wheezed, finding it hard to catch his breath. “Matt said there’s...something wrong with Keith. I can’t...wait for the next...refresh.”

“If anything happened, surely Adam would tell you?”

“He’s not...here.”

“I need you to calm down,” Sam said kindly. “I’ll try to get a hold of someone. You sit tight. I’ll let you know as soon as I know something. In the meantime, no news is good news, isn’t it?”

For the next fifty-seven minutes, Shiro agonized over his phone, willing it to ring. Earth and Daibazaal had a continuous connection. Sam should’ve been able to get a message to the ship immediately. A delay could mean an emergency Shiro couldn’t be told about directly.

He worked himself into such a state, the doctor on rotation ordered sedatives. They sheared the edge off of his panic and he lay on his side taking shallow breaths, watching the phone.

At some point he fell asleep with it in his hands. Come sunrise he had no calls, only a message from Sam reassuring him that the _Atlas_ reported no issues. The kind of update they’d give the public.

The hospital sent Shiro home before lunch. Adam was teaching, so Sam’s wife drove him home. Colleen headed the Garrison’s astrobio division.

“Can roses grow in the dark?” Shiro asked her, trying to distract himself.

Colleen didn’t react like she thought it was a strange question, just shook her head. “They’re sun-loving plants. The more the better. Why?”

“Just a story I read recently. A guy had a plant growing inside of him.”

“That’s rather grotesque. What happened to him?”

“I don’t know,” Shiro said. “I haven’t read the ending yet.”

She pulled alongside his building and let the engine idle. “Here we are. Do you need help getting upstairs?”

“I’m okay. Thank you for the ride.”

She waited for him to get inside and waved before she drove off. He took his time up the stairs. By the time he’d reached his floor, he was out of breath and collapsed on the couch. He watched cooking shows until late afternoon and was making dinner when his phone chimed with the evening refresh.

A message came through from Keith. A dark, grainy video. Shiro could hardly see his face. Keith spoke quietly close to the microphone, as though he didn’t want to be overheard.

“Hey. Sorry about Matt scaring you. I didn’t eat breakfast and went out in the heat. Stupid, huh? My mom lectured me.” Keith bent his head. He sounded tired. “Anyway, how’ve you been? I can’t remember the last time I heard your voice. Send me a video sometime, okay? I don’t care how long. Just let me see your face. And, oh yeah—I’m gonna miss your birthday by a couple of days but save an afternoon for me?”

Keith cleared his throat as he hung up. Shiro ran the video back a few seconds. He didn’t think he’d imagined the warble in Keith’s voice.

He opened his camera app and switched to video.

“Sorry it’s been a while,” he said, lowering his eyes so he didn’t have to look at himself. “I haven’t been feeling so great. I should’ve told you a lot sooner but I didn’t want you to worry, not when you have a crew to think about.”

Shiro rubbed his neck, preparing to say the next part.

“You’re the first person I’m telling this to. Adam and me…it’s complicated but we won’t be married by the time you get back to Earth. I didn’t want you to hear it secondhand.”

He took a breath and looked into the camera, imagining he was looking at Keith. He felt himself soften. Adam’s words circled his mind and he couldn’t refute them.

“I can’t wait to go on that trip once you get back,” he said. “I miss you, Keith. Please come home safe.”

* * *

At the beginning of February, Shiro moved into a first-floor single in another building and the rumor of his divorce spread through every division of the Garrison.

Adam thrived under the attention. Their first weekend apart, he came by with groceries and a list of common property to divide.

“I’m a jackass,” Shiro said. “You should have the Calphalon.”

“You keep it. You’re the one who cooks. But I want the towels.”

“Take whatever you want. I can’t use most of it anyway.”

Sighing, Adam folded the list in half and set it aside. “Four people have asked me out this week.”

Shiro wished he felt a little jealous. “Oh yeah?”

“I forgot what that’s like.” Adam smiled and drummed his fingers on the back of the couch, motioning with his other hand at the bare walls. He’d taken off his ring weeks ago. “Very minimalist.”

Shiro looked across a red floor. The flowers closest to him, nearly whole, were turning brown. They’d never done that until now.

“I thought I’d make sure I liked the place before I decorated,” he lied.

“How was your check up?”

Smiling, Shiro shook his head. He swallowed a petal stuck in his throat. “Adam, thank you. For everything. You didn’t have to do any of this.”

“Believe it or not, I still consider you a friend,” Adam said.

“Find someone who makes you happy, okay?”

Grief flickered across Adam’s face but he masked it with a smile. “I’ll let you rest,” he said. “If you need anything, call me. None of your martyr bullshit.”

“I promise.”

Adam leaned in to kiss him goodbye out of habit but stopped short of his lips. After he left, Shiro made a sandwich he couldn’t taste and sat wrapped in a thick blanket on his one-chair patio in the sun. He’d pushed himself from an early age, always studying or practicing a sport. Then came flight. It was rare that he’d taken time like this to look at the world. There was so much of it he’d never seen, would never see. His days in a cockpit were over. Months, the doctor had said. He felt strangely at peace with it.

Every day, he got up, messaged Keith, made breakfast, and took a slow walk around the apartment complex. His weight had stabilized but his shirts hung loose over softening muscles. He bought an inexpensive set of weights and lifted what he could as he watched TV, intent on buying time. The strength to hold onto a bike for a few hours.

Sam brought his famous meatloaf for Shiro’s birthday and commented that he looked better. Shiro forced down every bite, listening to Sam talk about the _Atlas_ ’ preparations for its return trip.

“They were going to make a couple of stops, but I guess that’s been called off. It’ll be a direct shot home. Will you be at the landing?”

“Am I allowed?”

“I’ll make sure of it. The only reason we put you on leave in the first place was because we knew you’d work yourself to the bone otherwise.”

Shiro smiled. “Think I ought to cough through the ceremony?”

“Those kids would love to see you.”

“I’ll come if I feel up to it.”

Sam nodded. “They should get here about nine days from now.”

Nine days still felt impossibly far away. There was no telling how much his condition would deteriorate between now and then, but he had no way to get the ship home sooner. His heart sped up knowing Keith would be home in a little over a week. He took the deepest breaths he could in order to calm it.

Admiral Sanda granted Shiro base clearance three days before the _Atlas_ landed. His car was about the only thing he’d kept after the separation. He wasn’t afraid of driving such a short distance. He spent his first day back cleaning his office and sitting in on a meeting with the senior chiefs about a new series of deep-space explorations in coordination with a scientist from Altea— a half-Galran like Keith with an interest in terraforming.

“I wish we could have you back for this one, Shirogane,” said Admiral Sanda.

“Is Kogane no good?” Iverson said.

“I want his health monitored for six months before we send him back out. For now, he's grounded.”

Shiro took perverse pleasure in that. He didn’t speak during the meeting, saving his air. It felt strange to wear the uniform again. The jacket was roomy and he needed a belt to keep his pants up, but it was the most he’d felt like himself in months.

On the morning of the landing, his head hurt worse than usual, but there was no way he was going to miss it. He took his medicine and headed to base. Another stage had been set up on the tarmac, opposite covered bleachers already filled with family waiting to welcome the crew home. Shiro found an empty aisle seat in the second row, but just as he’d sat down, Sam waved at him from the stage.

“What are you doing down there?” he said. “You belong up here with the rest of us.”

Shiro was touched. “Thanks,” he said. The stage wasn’t covered, however, and he soon found himself sweating. It was hard to breathe. He excused himself and went inside to cool off, using his portable oxygen in the privacy of his office. He stayed there until an announcement came over the speakers. The _Atlas_ was approaching the atmosphere.

He got outside in time to see it drop through the clouds. As it descended, his heart swelled. Within minutes, he would see Keith again. He had lived to see Keith again.

He wheezed, but everyone else’s eyes were on the ship. Shiro looked up at it with tears streaming down his face. He collapsed into his chair, feeling the ground shake under his feet as the ship touched down. It sent waves of heat over the audience. Shiro wiped sweat and tears from his eyes. Trucks approached to spray down the ship’s exterior. The hull steamed as it let off heat and a band started to play. The crowd, fanning itself, cheered as someone approached the door to unlock it.

Keith was the first person off of the ship. Behind him, the rest of the crew walked out in a double line, and soon the stage was swarming with family members hugging in reunion. Shiro shot to his feet. Keith ignored the people calling his name and walked straight toward him.

Shiro was paralyzed. He wanted to hug him, but he was suddenly aware of how that would look. How it had looked the last time. Adam was also on the stage, probably watching them. Shiro smiled and stuck out of hand.

“Welcome home.”

Keith gripped his hand tightly. “Thanks.”

They stared at each other for a while, saying nothing. Eventually Keith flushed and looked down.

“Listen, once this is over I’ve got to debrief. It’ll probably take a couple hours. Can I come by your place after?”

“Of course. I’ll make you dinner.”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “You cook now?”

“I could cook before.”

“Frozen pizza isn’t cooking.”

“I’ll make whatever you want as long as it’s chicken. That’s what I have in the fridge.”

Keith cracked a smile. “Chicken sounds awesome. I’m sick of the processed stuff. I’ll call you when I’m leaving base. Give me your new address.”

Shiro did and squeezed Keith’s shoulder, unable to stop smiling. “It’s really great to see you.”

Keith nodded, coughing into his fist. “You too. Keep your phone on.” He punched Shiro lightly on the chest and walked away.

Shiro sat in on the debriefings for a while until his head started to throb. He excused himself, saying he would watch the recordings later, and went back to his apartment. He straightened up the front room and started dinner. He felt full of possibility but also guilty, because anything that might start tonight would only live as long as he did.

Keith called a little past six to say he was heading to his own apartment for a shower. He got to Shiro’s place a half hour later. The chicken was almost finished. Shiro fussed with his hair before opening the door. He’d never been this nervous to see Keith before, like a kid on his first date. Keith was wearing jeans and an old red and white jacket that had belonged to his dad. He held up a bottle of wine.

“Happy birthday,” he said with a smile. His eyes drifted down to the floor behind Shiro. “Did you have a party or something? What’s with all the flowers?”

Slowly, Shiro turned around. The petals were scattered along baseboards and the base of the couch like a wedding aisle. He had long stopped cleaning them away.

“You can see them?” Shiro said, looking back at him.

Keith blinked twice. His mouth opened like he would speak, then closed again. He nodded so slightly Shiro could hardly see it.

“Come in,” Shiro said. He shut the door behind Keith and took the wine to the kitchen. Keith’s hands were trembling.

“How long has this been going on?” he said.

“Since you left.”

Keith’s expression was complicated. He turned his back, covering his face with his hands. At first Shiro thought he was angry, but then he heard him cough. A moment later, Keith held something out.

“Can you see this?” he said.

On his outstretched palm lay a single white petal. Shiro was speechless.

“When...when did yours start?” he said.

“Around the time you got engaged.”

Shiro couldn’t believe it. “But you weren’t sick.”

“I didn’t really feel it until I was on Daibaazal. Galran physiology is different. The hospital there said my lungs are like theirs. I get more oxygen than I need here on Earth, but on the homeworld…”

Keith shook his head and finally turned around. Shiro stepped closer.

“Is it...can I hug you?” he said.

The sad look in Keith’s eyes faded. He wrapped his arms around Shiro’s neck. “I thought I was going crazy.”

“What do you think it is?”

“I don’t know.” Keith coughed again. White petals settled like snow around their shoes and gave off a sweet odor. Shiro rubbed his back.

“Are you okay?” he said.

“Yeah. You feel so thin.”

Shiro squeezed him. He didn’t think he could say what he needed to while looking Keith in the eye. “They’ve given me a few months.”

“Of leave?”

“Of life.”

Keith’s arms tightened around his shoulders. “What are you talking about?”

“The coughing damaged my airways and the doctors can’t figure out what’s causing it. So unless I can miraculously get it to stop, I’ll get my name on a memorial wall before I’m thirty-five. Impressive, huh?”

“Don’t joke about that,” Keith said.

Shiro sobered and smoothed Keith’s hair. “It's not fair what I’m going to say next. You don’t have to answer. Maybe it’s better if you don’t, but I want to say it anyway.”

Against his shoulder, Keith nodded. Shiro took a steadying breath.

“You mean more to me than anything. I’m sorry it took me getting married to someone else to realize how I feel about you. I want to spend the time I have left together, but I don’t want you to feel guilty because I’m dying. If you don’t feel the same way—”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

Keith’s mouth tasted like flowers. A terrible, twisted feeling in Shiro’s stomach uncoiled. He closed his eyes.

“Wh—what about that guy you were seeing?” he whispered.

“I haven’t been with anybody since your breakup.”

If he’d been stronger, Shiro would have picked Keith up and carried him to the couch, but it was all he could do to stay upright. Shiro walked him backwards into the wall and boxed Keith in with his arms. Holding him, every part of his body felt alive.

“You need to eat,” Keith said after a while. Shiro dropped his face to Keith’s shoulder and nodded.

They fixed two plates and streamed a movie. Shiro was more interested in touching Keith than the food, but he managed to clear half the plate and afterwards scooted close enough to rest against him.

“You okay?” Keith said against his hair.

“I haven’t felt this good in a while.”

Keith put an arm around his shoulders. “We’re gonna get you better, alright?”

Nodding, Shiro tucked his face into Keith’s neck and kissed his throat. Laughing, Keith tightened the arm around him.

“What’s so funny?” Shiro said.

“This. I never thought we’d do this.”

He turned his head to kiss Shiro’s mouth, shifting his body so they faced one another. Keeping his eyes on Shiro, he shrugged off his jacket and dropped it behind him.

Somehow Keith ended up on his lap, Shiro’s hands beneath his shirt. Though he kept his movements slow, Keith’s heart was racing. Shiro could feel it where they were pressed together. He touched the hem of Keith’s shirt and met his eyes. Keith smiled and removed it himself.

“Are you taking yours off?” he said.

“I—I’ve lost a lot of weight,” Shiro said, flushing.

Keith kissed him softly and ordered down the lights. Skin to skin, Shiro stopped thinking. Keith’s body was warmer than anyone he’d been with and the heat went to Shiro’s head. He pulled Keith flush against him, exhaling shallow breaths in his ear.

“Is this okay?” he said.

Keith laughed again and rocked his hips forward. “You’ve gotta ask?”

“I don’t want to rush you.”

Taking Shiro’s face in his hands, Keith looked into his eyes. “Keep touching me.”

He smiled every time their lips met. As they moved together, Keith trembled, drawing his fingers across Shiro’s back. His moans filled the silent room.

Shiro was so happy he felt delirious, like he’d drunk the entire bottle of wine instead of a few sips. He surged for Keith’s mouth but felt the familiar irritation in his throat and turned his face away, coughing into his elbow. His lungs felt heavy. He counted to ten, trying to catch his breath, but it wouldn’t come.

“Shiro?” Keith said, sitting back. “What’s wrong?”

Shiro put a hand to his throat. He coughed again but something was blocking his airway. Panicked, he pounded his chest.

Keith scrambled for his clothes, shouting for the apartment computer to call the paramedics and unlock the door. Shiro shook his head, reaching a hand toward him. There wasn’t time. His lungs were already burning. In another minute or two, he’d lose consciousness. He didn’t want the last thing he saw to be Keith’s back.

He reached into his mouth to pull the flower out, but his fingers skimmed air.

“Let me do it,” Keith said. He shined the light from his watch into Shiro’s mouth but shook his head. “I can’t see anything. Give me your hand. I need you to stand up.”

With the heel of his hand, he pounded between Shiro’s shoulder blades, then wrapped his arms around him from behind and thrust a fist into his abdomen.

“Try to cough,” Keith said.

Shiro couldn’t. Keith continued to thrust, then pounded his back again, alternating between the two like they’d learned in first-aid training. In his confusion, Shiro wasn’t sure how many times they repeated it. He’d have bruises if he lived.

If he lived.

As he felt himself slipping into unconsciousness, he managed to draw in a ribbon of air. The blockage shifted. He bent over and gagged, vomiting a rotted flower onto the floor as Keith stroked his back. Shiro collapsed, wheezing.

“Oxygen,” he croaked, pointing blindly toward the bedroom. Keith went running and came back with the unit, fumbling along the wall for an outlet. Shiro got the mask over his nose and mouth and slumped against the wall. Keith was crying, the red glow of his watch reflected in the streaks on his face.

Shiro only got in a few breaths before his lungs spasmed and pushed up another bloom, larger than the last. Struggling was no use. He dropped the mask and reached for Keith’s face.

“We didn’t...go riding,” he said.

He could hear Keith shout his name, feel him tilt Shiro’s head back and open his mouth, reaching into his throat. It’s okay, Shiro wanted to tell him. I was happy just getting to see you again, but he didn’t have the breath.

The world went dark and Keith’s voice faint, as though it drifted down a long tunnel. Shiro was distantly aware of Keith’s hand in his mouth, how it plunged in and out, tearing flowers from his throat.

“Come on. Come on, Shiro, breathe,” Keith begged. He’d started chest compressions. They hurt, but somehow the pain felt very far away. Keith was far away. The air smelled like roses.

* * *

All his life, Shiro had heard you saw a tunnel of light when you died, but he didn’t believe it until he was standing at the entrance. There were no gates, no flames, no one waiting to escort him to paradise. The light was dull, then brightened to a point, moving from left to right like a searchlight.

He didn’t want to walk toward it but was unable to turn away. The intensity of the light grew, like someone was pulling back his eyelids. He flinched, fighting away from them.

“His pupils are dilating,” a voice said.

Shiro could feel a stream of air flowing in and out of his lungs, a mask over his face. Someone gripped his hand. There was only one person it could be. He lay still for a long time, summoning the strength to squeeze back.

Keith brushed the hair away from his forehead.

“Did I die?” Shiro said.

“Not yet. You’re in the ER.”

“Where are you?”

“In the chair next to your bed.”

“Oh.” Shiro let that sink in. “I was taking off your clothes.”

Keith coughed startled laughter. “Uh...well, I had to put them back on before the EMTs got there.”

“Are we going to do that again?”

“Near death experiences? No way.”

Shiro managed to open an eye. Keith looked exhausted, the skin under his eyes dark and reddened. He was wearing one of Shiro’s jackets.

“You were really hot,” Shiro said.

Keith laughed into his fist. “You’re liking these meds, huh.”

“I can breathe.”

“That’s good.” He dragged his chair closer and propped his chin on the bed. “I cracked a couple of your ribs, but otherwise they said things look okay. You haven’t coughed since we’ve been here and your oxygen’s back up. They don’t want to admit you. I was just waiting for you to wake up.”

“Are we walking back?” Shiro said, dazed.

“No.” Keith smiled and rubbed his mouth. “I drove behind the ambulance. Is it okay if we stop by my place on the way to grab some things?”

“Things?”

“Toothbrush, uniform. Phone charger.”

Shiro smiled at the implication, remembering a critical detail. “I only have one bed.”

“We’ll figure that out.” Keith reddened and ducked his chin. “I’ll go find a nurse.”

An hour later, Shiro had been discharged and Keith gingerly walked him out of the hospital. The sky was black, the parking lot mostly empty. Keith got Shiro into the car and held his hand as they drove to Keith’s apartment. He left the engine running and darted inside, coming back not five minutes later with an overstuffed Garrison tote.

By the time they reached Shiro’s base housing, the pain medication had worn off. He put a hand over his ribs and groaned at the mess in the kitchen and on the living room floor.

“I’ll clean up,” Keith said. “You get in bed.”

“Just put the food in the fridge. We can take care of the rest tomorrow.”

It took Shiro a while to find a comfortable sleeping position. His ribs hurt the more he moved and he ended up on his side facing the second pillow. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d slept beside each other—they’d conked out on movie night more than once—but Shiro trembled in quiet anticipation.

When Keith had finished in the kitchen, he came into the room and knelt down beside the bed. “Why don’t I take the couch? I’m afraid I’ll roll into you.”

But Shiro shook his head and patted the mattress beside him. Sighing, Keith kicked off his jeans and left his shirt on the floor. He got into bed carefully, facing him. Shiro clasped his hand and kissed it.

Come morning, he was facing the window. Keith’s arm rested on Shiro’s hip and he was exhaling against the back of his neck. The clock beside the bed read seven o’clock. Shiro turned off the alarm and messaged the base to say that he and Keith wouldn’t be coming in.

He limped into the kitchen to make coffee and placed Keith’s mug beside the bed. Keith woke an hour later to find Shiro reading.

“How long have you been awake?” he said.

“A while. Sleep okay?”

Keith nodded, rubbing his eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Like someone tried to crush me to death. I called us out of work.”

“Good. I’m beat.” Reaching for the mug, Keith held it with both hands.

“I can reheat it,” Shiro said.

“It’s fine.” Keith drank it cold. “It always tastes better when you make it.”

They lazed in bed until he could fully open his eyes, then Keith banished Shiro to the couch and swept up the remaining flowers. The ones nearest to the couch appeared decayed, still damp from last night. Shiro picked one up, turning it in his hand, and laid it in the dustpan that Keith held out.

For a few days, petals lingered in the garden off of the patio, catching on rocks and other plants, but soon even the most stubborn had blown away.

* * *

Just as suddenly as they had first appeared, the flowers vanished. A few days after Shiro returned from the hospital, they woke up and had coffee before Keith left for base. Shiro read the news, listening to Keith shower through the open bathroom door. Keith retched periodically but insisted he was fine when Shiro called his name.

He came out of the bathroom a while later with a towel around his waist, looking at something in his hand. He held it out with a puzzled look. An unopened rosebud, small and snow white. The last thing either of them coughed up. He placed it next to the TV.

They took things day by day. Though he wasn’t cleared for flying yet, Shiro returned to work to oversee the upcoming Earth-Altea program. Without the flowers filling his stomach, his appetite came back and he learned to cook things besides chicken. He made room in the closet for Keith’s clothes. Keith filed an official change of address and gave up his lease. No one on base seemed surprised.

They didn’t talk about the future. No one could say the flowers wouldn’t come back, that Shiro’s chronic disease wouldn’t come back, that one of them wouldn’t be killed in a training exercise. Shiro was content with small, everyday things: the sight of Keith’s face on the pillow beside him when he woke, hearing the doorknob turn when Keith came home from work, his clothes on the floor outside of the bathroom. The way Keith fit in his arms.

They married spontaneously in the fall with someone from the courthouse as their witness. Keith hadn’t wanted a ceremony. They bought an inexpensive pair of rings that set the Garrison rumor mill on fire and spent the weekend riding.

Life became routine again. Shero cherished it.

Adam was the Garrison’s most eligible bachelor and had a string of suitors following after him. Occasionally he and Shiro grabbed a drink after work. It surprised Shiro how normal it felt to sit across from him.

“Takashi,” Adam confided one evening after several rounds, “not marrying you was one of the best things I ever did.”

Shiro choked on his beer. “Um. Okay?”

Adam waved a lazy hand in the air to indicate he wasn’t through talking. “I wanted it to be enough that we chose each other. I wouldn’t have known how miserable that can be if we hadn’t done it, so I don’t have any regrets. Don’t you have any either. Keith might have married that Galran if it hadn’t been for me.”

Shiro thanked him profusely and picked up the tab.

* * *

The following spring, the Altean scientist they were partnering with visited Earth to meet with everyone from the program. As a courtesy, Keith and Shiro had him over for dinner. Lotor was a tall, striking man with white hair and a stylus stabbed through his ponytail. His skin appeared more lavender than Keith’s, probably tanned from so much time outdoors.

Shiro opened a bottle of wine and poured three glasses.

“To our first official guest,” he said.

“I’m honored,” Lotor said. “Have you just moved in?”

“We actually moved in last year, but I was sick for a while. I’m on the mend.”

“In that case, cheers,” Lotor said. “I believe that’s the custom.”

As they were drinking, he gazed around the room, commenting on the simplicity of Earth design. He seemed transfixed on something a few feet away. Shiro thought it was the television, likely primitive to an Altean, but Lotor was actually looking at what lay next to it.

“What an interesting specimen,” he said, getting up for a closer look. “What’s it called?”

Keith and Shiro glanced at each other. “We think it’s some kind of rose,” Keith said. “We found it on a walk a while back.”

“ _Rose_ ,” Lotor repeated, testing out the word. “It’s so well preserved, you’d think it had just been cut. It reminds me of a story my father used to read me.”

“Oh?” Shiro said to be polite.

“An Altean tale of fated lovers. They would become filled with phantom flowers unless they found one another. If they did, the final bloom was eternal. Unfortunately, most of them died horribly before then. It’s quite a gruesome bedtime story, though no one actually believes it, of course. May I take a photograph?”

Shiro nodded through his shock. “Please,” he said, eyes widening as the flower appeared on the screen in Lotor’s hand.

After they’d finished eating and seen Lotor back to the hotel, Shiro stood with his arms around Keith in the living room. They were both looking down at the flower.

“Do you think there’s any truth in what he said?” Shiro asked.

“If there is, I guess we don’t have to worry about it coming back.” Keith relaxed against his chest and let out a sigh. “You want to take a night ride?”

“I’d like to take your clothes off.”

Keith shook with laughter. “We can do both. Go get your jacket.”

The way his hair brushed Shiro’s cheek, Shiro couldn’t bring himself to loosen his arms. “I’ll get it in a minute,” he said, feeling Keith’s heart beat. “I’m happy like this.”

**Author's Note:**

> The wedding paperwork mixup actually happened to friends. As far as I know, they never did remarry.
> 
> Hanahaki disease (花吐き病 - _hanahaki byou_ ) gained popularity through manga. The name comes from the Japanese 花 meaning flower and 吐く, a verb that can mean to vomit, breathe out, express, and also to confess. The title comes from the last meaning.
> 
> I had this written when I discovered the _Go Lion_ episode “Phantom Space Flowers” on Crunchyroll. I edited Lotor’s line to include a nod to the title.
> 
> Thank you to taurussieben for beta reading; to Synne, who answered a string of questions while I was editing this and talked me back from lighting it on fire; and to my RN!sis who didn’t blink when I said “Soooo, assuming there were a disease that filled your lungs with flower petals, what kind of symptoms would you see over time?” and gave me a list. 
> 
> Murph, thanks for giving me the opportunity to write this trope and come back to this ship. Wishing you a happy holiday season! 💕
> 
> ["a confession of roses" playlist on Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2MqZL1wJodQwb3vLD7z2WK)


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